


The Committee for the Identification and Recuperation of the British Homosexual

by pandapony



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Humor, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Wodehouse terminology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandapony/pseuds/pandapony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Roderick Glossop bends Bertie Wooster's ear about his new committee to hunt down sodomites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Committee for the Identification and Recuperation of the British Homosexual

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally published at the Indeed, Sir! Livejournal fan fiction site for Jeeves/Wooster back around 2008. Subsequently I've left Livejournal and am hoping to archive my old J/W fics somewhere where they can be more easily found. Thanks to my original beta, Innocentsmith. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters belong to P.G. Wodehouse, not me. No profit is made form this work. No offense is intended. Please do not read if you do not enjoy male/male romance.

Now, ever since old Sir Roderick Glossop and I found ourselves eyebrow-high in the soup together, our faces black as Aunt Agatha’s heart, andour lives most inconveniently in peril, we have been on rather chummy speaking terms. That is to say, when we find ourselves in mixed company, Pop Glossop no longer threatens to summon the lads with the straitjacket.

I should explain, I suppose, that Sir Roderick Glossop is something of a bigwig in the Harley Street gang, and spends his days tending earls who think they’re canaries and talking about over-excited nervous systems with the relatives of posh loonies. At one point Pop Glossop thought I too was destined to be bunged into a waiting wagon. But a brush with near-death and a bout of homelessness brought a brighter tinge to our association. I try to be matey with the chap, and he in turn, out of shared woe or general politeness, chats amicably with me, as long as I don’t mention cats, his daughter, or the fact that he belongs in his asylum ten times more than any of his wretched patients.

So when I found myself seated next to the blighter at a holiday dinner at Brinkley Court, I couldn’t help but give the man a what-ho and abend of the ear, as he expounded upon his latest wheeze.

“I have started a new citizen’s league, to identify and treat sodomites.”

Dr. Glossop seemed especially proud of his new group, called something frightful like the “Committee for the Identification and Recuperation of the British Homosexual” or some other rot. 

“Sodo-whatsit?” I asked.

“Sodomites, Mr. Wooster! Surely you have heard of these people.”

“Do they play cricket?”

Sir Roderick found me about as amusing as the plague. “Sodomites are men who have sexual relations with other men.”

“Oh, right-ho! But hold on a tick, weren’t those blighters bunged up with the Gomorrah chappies back in the day? I won a Scripture Knowledge prize back in school, and I seem to recall a lot of rannygazoo about pillars of salt and some rather tabasco family relations.”

Sir Roderick looked around the dinner table, obviously scoping an exit from the Wooster feast of reason. But the lady to his left was busy having a syllable or two with the lad on the other side, and no one else was willing to yammer with the man. Sir Roderick glumly turned back to me.

“Sodomites are perverts, Mr. Wooster! Sinners in the eyes of God. And quite mad, I assure you. I have recently developed an experimental method of treating them. It involves restraints and using insulin shock therapy to induce convulsions which–“

“—Oh, I _see_ , inverts you mean?”

Sir Roderick sighed in relief. “Yes. That is what I mean, Mr. Wooster.”

I frowned. “Why would a chap have a dash at that, I wonder? No girlsaround, I suppose?”

“I’m sorry?”

I shrugged. “Seems like a dashed odd thing to do, get cozy with one of the lads. I got within striking distance of old Stinker Pinker once after a rugby match, and the smell alone would—“

“—Mr. Wooster!” old Glossop cried.

I looked over my shoulder and met Jeeves’ eyes. He was standing against the wall primly, having been re-commissioned to buttle the dinner service. He raised a solitary, serious eyebrow at me.

Sir Roderick calmed himself. “Never mind.” He tucked into his soup.

“No, no, sorry dear fellow,” I said. “Just trying to follow along, what? So these sodo-whatsits, you’ll lock the Johnnies up I take it?”

“Precisely. For the good of society.”

“Good show, good show,” I cried. “Er… what do they look like?”

He bent the brow a bit. “Look like?”

“Well, yes, you know, general config. of the dial. Must be some way to spot an off-bird if you see one. What is it, hair on the palms of the hand? Horns on the head?”

“I don’t think-“

“How the deuce will you know if you have one of these pervert chappies? Seems like rubbing around with your mates would give you some sort of fiendish glow.”

Sir Roderick glared at B. Wooster with a distinct lack of affection. “They look just like everyone else, Mr. Wooster! This is a mental condition, not a physical one!”

“Great Scott, so anyone can be one of these blighters?” I asked. I leaned in close. “You suspect anyone here at Brinkley Court? I saw the footman looking a bit queer as he carried the bags, and—“

“—Certainly not!” he dropped his soup spoon. “No such foulness would occur under my nose! I assure you, Mr. Wooster, I _am_ capable of detecting such indecency when it is occurring directly under my nose!”

Jeeves suddenly materialized at my shoulder. He coughed politely.

“Yes, Jeeves?”

“Sir, I need to speak with you urgently. A message has arrived for you from London.”

“Ah. Well.” I smiled at old Glossop. “Good luck with your sodo-whatsit hunting then.”

“I’ll see you shortly, Mr. Wooster.”

“Right-ho!”

I wiped the chin, excused myself from the crowd, and followed Jeeves out of the dining room. He led me silently upstairs to my bedroom. As soon as I shut the door behind me and locked it, Jeeves forcefully grabbed me by my lapels and slammed me against the wall. Before I could even breathe his lips crashed against mine and he gave me the bally best kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life.

I kissed back with the same enthusiasm, our tongues clashing together. He pressed his long body against mine, and I could feel his hardness against my own. I moaned into his mouth.

Jeeves was shaking. It took me a moment to register that he was silently laughing. Finally I broke for air. “Shivers, Jeeves? Laughter? What is so amusing?”

Jeeves gave me one of his rare smiles.“Your performance was quite spectacular.”

I grinned back. As I ran my hands along the edge of his belt, Jeeves’ eyes did a delightful flutter. “What performance?” I asked. “ I wish the pill the best of luck. Nasty sodomites! Why would anyone want to do something as naughty as…” I leaned closer and whispered into Jeeves’ ear what naughty things could be done to a bloke with his consent.

Jeeves’ mouth trembled and his eyes fluttered closed once more.

“Oh yes,” he whispered. He had lost all of his smooth grace. Most of my readers would be quite surprised to know that my otherwise calm, infallible valet turned into a mumbling mound of nonsensical blathering the second I laid my hand on certain places. 

“Now dobe quiet, old thing,” I whispered to him as I laid down with him on the bed. “Wouldn’t want that Glossop getting any ideas about us.”

 

#

 

When I ran into Sir Roderick after dinner, he asked after the angry red love bite on my neck. When I told him I had been ravaged by a dastardly sodomite, he had merely given me another of his disapproving looks, and then shook his head.

I looked over at Jeeves. Despite his perfectly groomed appearance, to the trained eye he appeared completely and utterly ravished. Jeeves merely raised his eyebrow at me once more. I who knew him so well understood what that miniscule motion meant. He was congratulating me once more on my topping performance.

I gave him a knowing nod, and then, reflecting on the sacred duty of hospitality and the wickedness of mankind, went off in search of a drink.


End file.
